Of Parchments and Trust
by similbus
Summary: After the Blight, Amell returns to the Circle to become First Enchanter. The first to "welcome" her is Knight Commander Cullen, and he has some issues. Fem!Amell


**Disclaimer: **I don't own the characters, Bioware does. If I do own them, I'd die happy.

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Cullen walked towards the First Enchanter's room, his every step echoing in the empty hallways of the second floor of the Circle of Magi. He passed by the rooms, all empty of mages and furniture. When he became the Knight Commander, Cullen confined all surviving mages in the first floor, where the templars could keep a close watch on them. He had the beds, closets, and footlockers removed and burned. If only Cullen could remove the floors and walls and burn them like the rest of the furniture, he would. He could still smell the blood of his comrades even after the numerous scrubbing, and he would do anything to forget about that incident. Even burn the Circle down.

But of course he couldn't. The newly crowned King of Ferelden announced the Circle of Magi to be protected from the Rite of Annulment for the time being, to give it time to regain the trust of the people and the Chantry. And, with the Hero of Ferelden being a mage, the Chantry had to give in.

Cullen slowed down as he saw the light coming from the First Enchanter's room. He stopped just before the door and looked inside. Like most of the rooms, the First Enchanter's room was empty except for the desk—it had been too heavy to bring down the stairs—and the red-headed mage looking outside the small window. He knew her of course, even without the parchment of introduction the Chantry had sent him a week ago. He knew her even if her once long and beautiful hair had been cut in a brusque manner one would think she did it with a dull blade while blindfolded. He knew her even if her exposed nape showed the tip of an ugly scar that ran and disappeared underneath her worn-out robes. He knew her even if her once lively eyes had become dull with fatigue or even if her once smooth brows now had lines that made her look older than she really was. He knew her because he once loved her.

_But not anymore,_ Cullen said to himself. All he could see now was another mage, another abomination-to-be, who happened to be appointed by the Chantry as the First Enchanter.

Cullen finally announced his presence by knocking softly at the door, pulling the mage out of her own thoughts. Slowly, she turned to him and smiled. Her smile was unchanged, if not for the fatigue it betrayed. Cullen felt something stir inside him but he ignored it; he had been doing that a lot in the past months.

"You did some remodelling, Knight Commander," she said cheerfully. "I barely recognized the room."

Cullen crossed his arms as he continued to ignore the gnawing feeling—was it regret? nostalgia perhaps?—inside him. "You're here earlier than expected," he said as stoically as possible.

She shrugged. "Denerim is too crowded for my taste nowadays. Besides, I'm not expecting anyone to expect me."

Cullen took the folded parchment with the seal of the Chantry from his pocket. "This says we should."

She glanced at the parchment in Cullen's hand. "First Enchanter …" she muttered as she turned her back on him. "Yes, I did tell him that…"

Cullen did not have to ask who _he_ was. Cullen had seen them, back in Redcliff the night before the final battle: how Amaia and the King talked to each other, how they looked at each other, how one would turn at the sound of the other's voice, and how every stolen glances were filled with an overwhelming sadness that even Cullen could feel it and, together with his feelings of longing and regret, could cry from it. It was probably then that he started ignoring his feelings.

"Besides," Cullen said when he thought the silence had been long enough. "We should at least give the _Hero of Ferelden_ a proper welcome.

"Honestly," she sighed, running her hand through her hair. "I'm no hero at all…"

It was then that Cullen saw the large wound on her hand and memories began to flood his mind like sewer water. "No, you're not," Cullen said even before he could stop himself.

Amaia turned and looked at him questioningly, as if she was unsure of what she heard. When Cullen did not say anything, she sighed and nodded, "I know. I…"

"You used blood magic," Cullen said, taking a step forward. His heart was beating frantically as he remembered how, while fighting off a darkspawn ambush on their way to Denerim, one of Amaia's companions threw a dagger at her; how she stabbed her own hand and wiped half of the darkspawn horde with a single spell that shook Cullen's very soul. He remembered he threw up after that, when the images of his dead brothers and the abominations feeding on them vividly came back to his mind.

"I _saw_ you," Cullen continued when the mage said nothing. "You _saw_ what happened to the Circle. You saw the abominations your _friends_ had become. You saw what happened _to me_. Still, you used _blood magic?!"_

"It was necessary," she said calmly, unperturbed by Cullen's rage.

Cullen snorted. "That's what Uldred said."

"That was diff—"

"Different?" Cullen was shouting now, looking at her incredulously, at the heretic she had become. "How different are you from Uldred really?"

"I needed power to defeat the archdemon," she said, her brows creased and her eyes pleading, trying to make him see the truth in her eyes and for a moment, just for a moment, Cullen regretted ever starting this conversation. "You should know that I would not do it had I the choice."

"Should I?" Cullen asked. "Tell me, do you know _exactly_ what those blood mages did to us? How they dragged the children to be the first sacrifices? How familiar faces were warped and twisted as they turn into demons? Into _abominations_? How they put us in cages and make us kill each other just to get out of their prison?!"

"Cullen…" she started, raising her hand to reach out for him. But he brushed her off. She was taken aback, as if she did not expect him to reject her comforting hands; but then she bit her lower lip and looked away.

"No," he said; his voice low and shaking with suppressed anger and something else, something he ignored again. "No, you did not know because you weren't there. You weren't there and you did not taste the blood and smelled their death and—" He broke off when he felt a lump on his throat, as if his long-forgotten tears were forcing their way out. He swallowed then said, almost whispered, "You weren't there…"

"But _you_ weren't at Ostagar," she said softly, slowly raising her head and looking at her with eyes filled with tears and sadness. "You weren't there in Lothering, nor in Haven, nor in the Deep Roads, nor on top of Fort Drakon. You did not dream of archdemons looking at you, nor of hordes of darkspawn slaughtering an entire town. You did not have to make a choice between killing a child or killing his mother. _You_ did not have the fate of the world on your shoulders. ___You _did not have to choose between the world and your—""

She clutched at her robes, trying to stop her hands from shaking, as she began to cry silently. Suddenly, she looked small again—small and frail like the apprentice she once was; the apprentice Cullen had followed with love-filled eyes. Cullen looked at the ceiling as he fought the urge to put a comforting arm around her.

They stood there for what seemed like hours. Their silence only broken by Amaia's sniffling and Cullen's clothes rubbing against each other as he shifted awkwardly, waiting for the mage to calm down. He realized this was the second time he had seen Amaia cry—the first one was after she and her companions had saved the Circle. As soon as Irving and Greagoir left to check on the other mages, Amaia had begun to shake, like she was having a fit. The King, who was then still the other Grey Warden, had had his arms wrapped around her and had whispered things that only the two of them could hear. To Cullen's surprise, Amaia had begun to smile—she even gave a short laugh. Cullen wondered how the King did it…

"Alistair…" Amaia said suddenly, as if reading Cullen's thoughts. "He… he went through Morrigan's ritual. He did not tell me and he went through it—" Amaia started shaking again, her breathing heavy. Cullen feared she might suddenly collapse so he put his hands on her shoulders. This only made things worse as Amaia finally broke down and began to cry like a child, making Cullen as confused and nervous as he was back then.

"I—I…" Cullen began but stopped and just let the mage cry her heart out. He did not really understand what Amaia was trying to say but Cullen thought it was a good thing their argument about blood magic was over. He could feel less guilty now.

***

"I'm sorry," Amaia said, breaking the awkward silence.

Cullen did not look at the mage beside him as they continued to walk towards the stairs. He was not sure he could look at her anyway. Still, he replied. "I apologize too."

She shook her head—or at least Cullen felt she did—and said, "You're right, no matter the reason, I shouldn't have used blood magic."

Cullen opened his mouth to say something but thought against it. He would rather scrub the whole Circle again rather than admit that he, too, was wrong. So they walked together in silence until they reached the stairs. Before Cullen could push the door open, though, he felt Amaia's cold hand on his arm.

"Cullen," she said softly, pulling Cullen's arms and forcing the templar to look at her. "I swear this now: I will _never_ let what happened before happen again. _Never_."

As he looked at her eyes that were glinting with determination, Cullen believed her every word and hated himself for it. He turned away from her and pulled his arm free. As he opened the door and stepped aside to let her pass, Cullen promised himself that this was going to be the last time—the _very last time_—that he would put his trust on a mage. He gave a curt bow and even smiled a little as he said, "I look forward to working with you then, First Enchanter Amell."

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**_Author's Babble_**_: __This was supposed to be part of the longer Cullen fic I was talking about but it was just _begging_ to be written. I guess the longer fic will become a collection of short ones, unless inspiration rain down from the heaven above and time allows me to sit in front of my laptop and write all day. Anyway, I usually don't upload (or have other people read) my fiction without me sleeping over it for, like, two days. But I'm just excited to share this one... just because! I'm currently writing another fanfic--related to this of course because I'm doing a collection, remember?--and I hope I can upload it soon._

_Oh, btw, thanks for all who reviewed my first fanfic! You really inspired me to write some more. I hope you don't hate me for my failure in thinking up a good title. ._


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